TW for depression
We are submerged, with merely enough of us underwater for our exposed bones to be tormented, but we’re too far below the surface to stop the rising flow.
Yet, we flourish to grow above the meniscus,
Just for polluted people to cloud the waters into a murky soup only worthy of death.
Our people, relying on murky protection, are undeserving of the seeds capable of thriving in these waters.
Our people season the waters others grow from to leave behind fresh springs.
Our people are destined to remain beneath the threshold to make room for new life.
Our people are destined for death, so others can live.
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